Sleep Talking is Dangerous
by HAPAnerd
Summary: Pre-Inception. Getting over an ex who disappeared on you can be hard, even after seven years, and sleeping with them casually may not be the right approach. Sleep-talking fixes everything. Two-shot. Angsty fluff. Backstory fic. Alive!Mal
1. Chapter 1

Eames sighed as he peered at Arthur's sleeping form. He trailed his gaze over the man's pale shoulders, into the dip of his neck, as he tried to remember how he let this happen. Again. Seeing Arthur like this was never a good idea; there was no way Eames could move on after watching Arthur's usually rigid form relaxed in sleep. Soft and pliable after a night of amazing sex.

Eames' mind wandered back to a time when he didn't need to worry about the morning and the repercussions of a night with the man sleeping beside him. Back then he could slip into sleep without the fear of waking up alone in a strange hotel bed, back then he could kiss Arthur's curls as they fucked, back then could whisper "I love you"s into the night, knowing he would hear the words reflected back. Sadly that was years ago.

From the beginning he knew that Arthur was going to break him, but he'd never guessed they'd end up here. He had imagined a future with Arthur from the minute they met, but never one like this. At twenty-one Eames had thought he knew it all. He'd finish his service, Arthur'd finish school, and they'd be off hand in hand. He had planned on waking up next to Arthur's steady breath every day. He'd paint, Arthur would study philosophy, they'd kiss at the pictures, and fuck in their bed.

Eames never guessed that they would end up as top-line criminals, stealing people's sleep. He'd never imagined a life where Arthur was his stuffy colleague by day, and convenience lay by night. If Eames would have heard this back then he would have laughed. It didn't seem so funny now, when the man he'd thought he lost forever, ended up in his bed three weeks in a row to "de-stress".

Arthur shifted, eye lids fluttering and lips pursed as he rolled onto his back and groaned, "'Time's it?"

"Too early, even for you," Eames muttered, closing his eyes to appear as if he'd been asleep. The last thing he needed was Arthur seeing how gone he was.

"Mm, good," he yawned while stretching his arms all the way above his head like he did when he was eighteen. "I'm not sure I can stand just yet."

The blond man grinned, despite his frustration with their current circumstances. "Sorry 'bout that, Love," he said-not meaning it. He felt Arthur shift again, this time moving towards Eames and wrapping his arms around the man's tattooed chest. Eames opened an eye.

Arthur was now laying with his head on Eames shoulder and a leg thrown over his middle. His soft dark hairs were brushing Eames' neck with each deepening breath, as he fell back into sleep. Damn if he wasn't the most gorgeous thing Eames had ever seen.

"'Still love you."

The forger blinked. Had he imagined that? He looked back down at the, now fully sleeping, form. When they had first dated Eames used to tease the younger man about his tendency to confess secrets in his sleep, but now it didn't seems so funny. Not in their line of work anyway. Surely Arthur kept himself guarded enough to prevent slips like this, surely it was just wishful thinking that tricked Eames' ears, but even so, he needed to know for sure. For Arthur's safety. No other reason.

Taking a deep breath, Eames stood and untangled himself from Arthur, praying he wouldn't wake up. Luck was with him, so he rolled out of bed and quickly pulled on some boxers and a T-shirt, trying to figure out his course of action. He paused before grabbing his mobile and stepping onto the attached balcony, and dialling.

Mal picked up on the first ring, an anxious tone colouring her French accent."Charlie, is something wrong?"

"Does Arthur have a sleep talking problem?"

"No, you know we'd never have hired him if that was the case. What's this really about?" She snapped, now annoyed at being woken up to be interrogated.

"Never mind. Sorry for disturbing you, Love," the forger said, finger on the end button.

"Charles Richard Eames, don't you deflect, I'm awake now so tell me why you called or I'll call Margi and tell her you've gotten another tattoo!"

Eames cringed at the use of his full name coupled with the threat of a call to his mother. He shuddered at the thought of her worried face asking how he knew the needles were clean and how . "He just said something strange, that's all, _Malorie._ I'll tell you the rest when I see you."

"Fine, Charlie. If you promise," Eames could hear her smile through the phone.

"Okay. I promise. _Je t'aime, ma cherie_. "There was a click, and the line was dead. Eames turned to go back into the hotel room, but being the lucky bugger that he is, found his way blocked by none other than the cause of his inquiry.

"Arthur," Eames began warily, taking in the man's hard glare. He had let his guard down while on the phone, and the point man was known for his stealth, making it possible to surprise the otherwise unshakeable Eames.

Arthur's dark hair was sticking up and curling over his ears, and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. At some point on his way to the door he had slipped on a pair of track suit bottoms and a faded AC/DC T-shirt, and Eames ached at the barrage of memories that flooded in.

 _Eighteen year-old Arthur, sitting on Eames' bed in nothing but plaid boxers, reading George Orwell for his English class while Eames doodles pictures of pigs holding sickles on Arthur's notebook. Arthur bats his boyfriend's hand away from his notes before leaning over and picking up a T-shirt from the side of the bed and pulling it over his head._

" _I'm taking this shirt," he says scrambling off the bed to finish getting dressed._

" _You don't even like AC/DC," Eames grumbles back. He grabs the notebook once more and begins another doodle of Arthur with the caption "shirt thief."_

" _See it as pay back for defacing my homework."_

" _Fair enough," says the older boy, holding the homework in question up for his thief to grab._

 _Arthur reaches for it, but Eames pulls it away. "I'll be late Eames, give it!"_

 _The only reply the dark haired boy gets is a raised eyebrow. Arthur rolls his eyes and leans into the Englishman's space. He has one knee on the edge of the bed between the other boy's legs and one foot on the ground. Eames' breath hitches when Arthur brings his face closer and his eyes dilate._

 _Seeing this Arthur grabs his notebook, pecks Eames on the mouth, and sprints out the door of his boyfriends grubby one room apartment._

"Eames!" As fast the memory invaded Eames' consciousness it vanished. He shook his head, trying to push past the man who now seemed intent on yelling at him.

"Something the matter, _daar-_ ling?" Eames said- though it came out as more of a snarl.

Arthur narrowed his eyes and moved out of the doorway, allowing Eames to pass, before sliding the door shut with a swift _swoosh_. "I don't know who you think you are, _Mr. Eames_ , but I'm telling you now: I am not your whore," The point man growled.

The blond man smiled bitterly. "You're not my anything, Arthur." If it weren't for years of studying human behaviour Eames wouldn't have caught the flicker of pain on Arthur's face, but as it were the forger saw the hurt in the younger man's eyes before he managed to school his expression into his stoic mask.

"Exactly." Arthur said with a curt nod, turning away.

"Unless you meant what you said earlier," Eames added hurriedly.

"What are you talking about?"

Eames sat down heavily on the hotel double bed, looking and feeling exhausted. "Do you remember what you said when you first woke up this morning?"

Arthur looked confused. "I asked for the time, didn't I?"

"After that."

Eames watched in silence as the point man's eyebrows knit together, before inching up his forehead in alarm. That was all the confirmation Eames needed.


	2. Chapter 2

"Shit!" Arthur muttered under his breath. Had he really told Eames he loved him? The angry look on the man's face was confirmation enough for Arthur. He knew he should never agreed to do this. He should have walked out the door the second Mal introduced Eames as a member of their team. The forger was trouble, at least where Arthur was concerned.

"Do you know what this means?"Eames asked after a few moments passed. He was still sitting on the bed and his entire body was tensed with anger.

Arthur's control snapped. "You have no right to be pissed Eames," he growled. "In fact how is any of this even your business? Yo-"

Eames leapt up, interrupting Arthur. "What the the hell were you thinking going into dream-share?! Do you have a fucking death wish, Arthur?"

Arthur blinked. Even with a mind as brilliant as his he couldn't follow Eames' train of thought, and it certainly didn't help that the forger was now close enough for Arthur to see the faint smattering of freckles across his nose. "What the fuck are you-"

"The sleep talking."

Sleep talking. Every dream-worker's biggest fear, but not something Arthur had ever struggled with. Growing up in six different foster homes made it nearly impossible for the point man to let his guard down, even in sleep. Mal had been shocked by the state of his subconscious when she had gone under to help him militarise and found her job had already been done. Arthur was always lucid, the only times he felt safe enough to sleep fully was when he was eighteen and curled up with Eames.

"I don't sleep talk."

"Please, Arthur, don't fucking lie to me. You always used to talk in your sleep, don't insult my intelligence." Said Eames, now sounding more tired than angry.

"I _what_?" Arthur gaped.

"You were always mumbling about something or another back then. I thought it was bloody hilarious. It's not remotely funny now."

Suddenly it made sense to Arthur. He talked in his sleep, when he was with Eames, because that's when he _really_ slept. "I need a shower," he muttered starting toward the en suite bathroom.

"Arthur," it was so quiet the point man might have imagined it, but despite this he looked back at the man standing in the middle of the beige hotel room. His hair was mussed and his eyes were clouded with something Arthur couldn't place. "Did you mean it?" Eames whispered, even more quietly than when he began.

Arthur smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes, this was it, he'd tried working with Eames, he'd tried casual, but clearly the were not among his options. "Well, I didn't keep this shirt because I like AC/DC."

"Darling," Eames grinned, nearly purring the word.

"Drop it Eames," Arthur said as he turned away. "I can't do this. You've obviously got a wife waiting for you, and despite fucking me in your spare time, you love her, and you had no right to keep that from me. Now I'd like you to leave."

" _Wife?!_ "Eames coughed. "Are you out of your mind, Arthur?"

Arthur's expression hardened to a glare as he replied, "I heard you on the phone."

"Arthur I was talking to _Mal_." The forger said.

"You married Mal? What about Dom?"

Eames approached his confused lover, exasperation clear in his voice. "About how bloody confusing you are." He stopped a foot away from Arthur, his expression now quietly amused.

"Not to mention I'm a flaming homosexual who hasn't been in love with anyone except your sorry self since I was bloody twenty-one years old!" With that Eames gently pushed back Arthur's bangs and dropped all his walls away for his point man to see.

"You have so much explaining to do Eames." Was all Arthur said in response, but Eames knew it was safe to lean in and and snog the other man-so he did.


End file.
